Monday, July 31, 2006
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Ain't nothing but a G Thang
Imagine a 10 year-old hanging out with his older, flyer cousins. Here we are at the Smith and 9th Street stop and, over the intercom, the train conductor bellows: "Last Stop! Everyone off."
10 year-old: "What? But we gotta get to Coney Island."
Cousin: "This is as far as the G train goes. Now we get off and wait for the F."
10 year-old: "Yo, the G train is messed up. This train has problems. REAL PROBLEMS. This is the G-Unit train -- like 50-cent, its career is about to be over."
Bravo, little man.
Wait, but is Fitty's career over? I don't think it is. Is the G train gonna get fired? Let's hope not. At least for the sake of the Williamsburg hipster who likes to escape his drum kit loft bed to sleep at his girlfriend's much cleaner and much boozhier house in Cobble Hill. Let's hope so, for that guy.
Monday, July 24, 2006
Mid-afternoon Train to Brooklyn
By the time we made it to Chinatown, both of us were feeling sweaty, but yet stalwart about completing our journey. And then my lovely comrade said, "hey, instead of the Brooklyn Bridge, why don't we walk over the Manhattan Bridge? No one ever walks across the Manhattan Bridge?"
I shook my head. "I don't know anyone who has."
"Let's do it!" she exclaimed.
So, we did.
My friends, there is a reason why no one walks across the Manhattan Bridge...or as I like to call it "The Poor Man's Brooklyn Bridge." It's a fine bridge for cars, stretching between the great thoroughfares of Canal Street and Flatbush Avenue. It's perfect for any cab carrying some drunken slut, who's crawled out of a seedy East Village dive, back to her home in Fort Greene. But for people to amble across, it is a 'no go.'
Some lesser reasons being that unlike the Brooklyn Bridge, where you walk above the traffic and under the impressive arches, the Manhattan Bridge, you walk alongside traffic and the scenery is marred by a graffiti and urine-covered concrete enclosure. Although, you can look through the chain fence at the vacant rotting apartments below in East Chinatown as you ascend a never-ending incline.
The main reason, however, that no one takes a date on a walk across the Manhattan Bridge, is that SEVERAL train lines also use the Manhattan Bridge as their crossing point. So, your conversation sounds like this:
Lang: So, that brunch was de...
Chloe: It certainly...
Lang: Wow, these trains sure are...
Q TRAIN in the other direction:
RRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRR.... (comes to a stop) SQUEEEEEAAAKKKK... (moves again) ROOOOOOOOOAAAAAAARRRRRR!!!!!!
Chloe: No I know... it's like every time we say anything, the train...
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRR!!!! HONK HONK HONK HONK!!!!
B TRAINS (in both directions) :
RRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRR!!!! HONK HONK!!! RRRRROOOOAR!!!
So, basically, you just walk and sweat in complete silence with one another. You give an occasional awkward smile, but mostly just stare straight ahead and sweat and climb. The high points are watching fit joggers sprint past you, but mostly you just avoid puddles and say "hi" during the brief silences.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Be With You
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Quitters Never Die
So I had to quit the fast. Please don't be disappointed. I'm no quitter...usually. It was just that I was so weak. I could barely get up the stairs or out of the subway and I could hardly hold a conversation. Every morning as I left my apartment, I acted like someone who had been in solitary confinement for a month and was seeing the sun for the first time. I kept waiting for this euphoric burst of energy that was supposed to be coming any day, but literally every day I just got weaker and weaker and it became harder and harder to suck down that lemon-cayenne gasoline. And so after 6 days of not eating, I began to wonder, "Am I really detoxing or am I just dying?"
And so I called my mom, who is a doctor, and asked her what she thought of my fast. She thought it was dubious. She wasn't too sure how all of these things were supposed to clean me out, not that she has anything against holistic medicine. According to her, cayenne pepper and any kind of pepper for that matter just go right through you. But she just recommends, if you want to flush out all the bad stuff, to just get a colonic and getting it over with in one fell swoop. I'll let you all know if I decide to do that. Seems a leeeeetle bit scary.
Okay, but even this talk with Dr. Mom didn't sell me totally. I weakly crawled onto my couch and breathed deeply and listened to the hollow sounds of my heart beating against my empty carcass of a body. I was sure that I was just expiring. I didn't want to give up, however, I only had 4 days to go. So, I decided for inspiration, to go weigh myself. Maybe having dropped a few unneeded toxin pounds would keep me focused. So, I step on the scale, and I kid you not...ladies and gentlemen, I would like you to meet the only person capable of gaining 2 pounds after living off of lemonade for 6 days. This is when I yelled, "Fuck this!" and went into my kitchen to smoke a ham.
So, the fast is over. I am a terrible detoxifier and anorexic.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
But mom! I don't want a summer job!
It wasn't until this young girl turned around awkwardly, that I got a good look at her face. She was no girl at all -- she was a teenage boy. And by the looks of those door-handle eyebrows, he was the teenage son of my gynecologist. He was just helping out the nurses and receptionists. Obviously out of school for the summer.
Now, I want to ask this question calmly...in a tone no louder than a whisper...
"what mother gives her son a summer job at the gynecologists office -- especially when she is the gynecologist?"
The poor kid. After I got my lady parts all checked out and did a roundoff back handspring out of my stirrups, I came back out to the main office and checked out. I kid you not, this poor boy was huddled in a corner, just staring...only moments away from sucking his thumb. So traumatized.
You know, and all he was trying to do this summer was to try to fill in his stache. Maybe play a little "Tomb Raider" or drink some Hawaiian Coolers at the beach with his pock-marked buds.
Before this summer, this kid was psyched when a his face accidentally brushed a gigantic black woman's 48 EE at the supermarket. But now, he is surrounded by sooooo much vagina. You should have seen his face when a salesman from Johnson and Johnson came in to sell the doctor KY, Monistat, and other feminine products. He looked like a baby being forced to try mashed peas. His pubey stache almost met up with his door-handle eyebrows. Young man, I salute you and all that you stand for.
Also, DAY 4 on my FAST. Okay, so I am less hungry, but am also less strong. I feel like I am wasted. I have started to walk at a geriatric pace and this afternoon I had the runs. Everyone feel updated? 6 more days y'all!!!!
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Master and Commander
Today is Day 3. AND I AM STARVING!!!! I AM SO HUNGRY!!! I want a perogie, and a candy, and a hamburger, and a beer, and a dumpling.... The list goes on. Yesterday and today are supposed to be the hardest days. Their only advice for your hunger is to drink more of the lemonade...let me tell you what I don't want any more of -- the lemonade. But I would love paella or one tic tac.
By the way, this is no normal lemonade. This lemonade is made with syrup and cayenne pepper and it is ALL you get. For 10 DAYS! It tastes like Heartburn flavored Gatorade.
I can't stop sweating. And I feel like I am embarking on a visionquest. Sometimes I hear voices. Sometimes my dreams don't stop when I wake up. (I'm being dramatic, cuz I hungy.)
Consequently, anywhere else in the country/world, people would think that this kind of starvation madness is a ridiculous form of self torture. However, in NYC, so many people have tried it, ask around, you'll be surprised. People love the Master Cleanse.
Monday, July 10, 2006
This is my next Halloween costume. I will come to the party normally dressed and at midnight, under the moon, my tummy will become a rainbow...and then I will attack and kill all of the virgins. Yay!
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Take My Breath Away
She's thousands of miles away in California and the phone has gone dead. What did she mean she lost her breath? We weren't jogging. Mom?
And thusly, I panic. Will I now, as the oldest, raise my younger brothers...one of whom has yet to get to high school?
Yes, I will.
But wait!!! She may still be alive. Call back, Lang! CALL BACK!!!
I do. The line is busy. I call again. Still busy. And again. Busy, busy, busy.
At what point after your mother says that she has "lost her breath," do you call an ambulance? So, I sat there, potentially motherless, eating a cheese and pepperoni hot pocket, anxiety-ridden, wondering if I should call the Santa Cruz police department.
I should try the house again. Just one more time. If no one picks up, then I call the authorities and buy a red eye ticket to the West Coast.
I call once more...busy. Jesus! Is she literally lying on the floor, where her organic juicer lays in shreds as she had tried to grab something before she went down? Oh, the thought!
As precious seconds passed, I was packing my suitcase, filled with everything including the jelly jar of nickels I had earned on my early morning Brooklyn paper route.
Authorities had yet to be alerted. Call again. BUSY!
Washing my hot pocket dish was the most poignant moment of my life. My mother was dead and now I was the mother of my young brothers. Where would everyone sleep? My Brooklyn apartment was too small. Had she left us any money to get by? Would we all work in the mines? Would I have to sell my hair or the wedding ring that no one has given me?
One last call..."Lang? Heyyyy! Sorry 'bout that."
The thick Southern accent slaps me in the face like an insolent newborn. "You're alive?" I whisper as I heat up another Hot Pocket. "But I thought you lost your breath? The phone? The phone was dead? I thought you too were..."
"Oh no, sweetie, I lawst mah BARRETTE. MAH BARRETTE! And I gayess I leeyunned on the phooone to git it."
Hmm. Well, at least my response time was good.